I’ve been a little bit proud and a lot bit celebratory this week as I approach my two-year writing anniversary on October 16th. This is, of course, not marking the moment when I first began writing, but it is the day when I committed to publishing a piece of new writing at least once each week. My brand new husband and I had moved halfway across the country only a couple of weeks earlier. We didn’t have internet in our home yet, so I went to a nearby Panera, took a deep breath, and created my . . .
We know very little about her story. All we really know is that she sinned. She was caught and she was about to die. Not really an experience any of us strive for. Not a legacy that we hope to leave. But this piece of her story—this is all we know of her. The scene is set: Jesus has spent some time away at the Mount of Olives. Early in the morning, He comes down to the temple and the Bible says, “All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them.” As he is teaching, the scribes and . . .
It was a typical early Wednesday morning in our home. I was sitting on the couch with the dog, watching the TODAY show and catching up on emails (a work-from-home perk). Suddenly, I heard some wild commotion coming from the kitchen. My husband, a beautiful and even-tempered man, was not happy. I stood up and headed towards him to see the offense: our typically white kitchen was now mostly green. A very vibrant green. Two days ago, my husband and I were cooking dinner together and I made . . .
A few days ago, I began writing this verrrrrry heartfelt piece about [retracted, because you’ll read it soon enough]. I had no doubt I’d finish it up in time to send it out to you this week. I was wrong. I don’t often do this, but I had to push its publishing date back a week to get the piece just right. Because I hate to miss a week with you, I’ve decided, instead, to tell you about this wild thing that took place a couple of weeks ago. Here’s what happened: Not long ago, my husband . . .
Years ago, my uncle and his family were in town for the holidays. We didn’t get to see this side of the family very often, so our time together was always too short but so sweet. It still is. I’ll never forget this particular visit because I very much irritated my dad by using a “nice” bath towel, rather than letting one of our guests use it. This was wildly confusing to me, mostly because I didn’t realize we had varying levels of bath towels, some of which were intended for specific people . . .
Several weeks ago, I had my first conversation with a literary agent. A real literary agent! She had contacted me, inviting an introductory phone call, and I was just beside myself with excitement. I spent hours researching her and her agency before gathering questions and talking points for our call. When it came time to speak with her, I couldn’t have felt more prepared. The conversation was wonderful; we connected well within a steady flow of thoughtful questions and storytelling. If you . . .